


have courage (and be kind)

by flowersinxeirhair



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 05:19:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5485061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersinxeirhair/pseuds/flowersinxeirhair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>combeferre and courfeyrac through the years, and how things fell into place</p>
            </blockquote>





	have courage (and be kind)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gwendolynn_C](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwendolynn_C/gifts).



_Six_  
Orange juice and chubby cheeks and a clock that stopped ticking not so long ago.

 

Courfeyrac’s maman made the best sandwiches. The second best parts of the summer were the days when Combeferre could stay for lunch at Courfeyrac’s.  
They ate summer tomatoes like apples, dipped fruits into honey and ate the best selection of sandwiches ever made. It was probably the bread. They never had bread like that at Combeferre’s home.

The first best part was, of course, Courfeyrac. 

They had sand between their toes and grins split across their faces as they learned to ride bikes and laugh at jokes that weren’t funny to anyone but them.  
Combeferre could chase after butterflies for hours and hours and Courfeyrac could watch him for just as long. 

They compared Marks. Combeferre delighted at seeing the little butterfly that danced across Courfeyrac’s calf, tracing his finger over its wings when it sat still long enough. When Combeferre fell asleep in his deckchair, Courfeyrac could entertain himself by teasing the little golden retriever puppy, careful not to wake his friend. 

Neither of them could remember who they’d met when their Marks appeared. It was the first day of school, the room was full of kids just their age and suddenly they felt all shivery, and their parents had been equally as shocked. Of course, it wasn’t impossible of for a person to get their Mark so early on in their life, but it was certainly improbable.

A couple other kids got their Marks that day too, a small succulent growing along a girl’s inner forearm, a bear wandering over another boy’s shoulder, a phoenix, a wasp, a sunflower. Neither boy could remember them all.

They didn’t let it bother them. 

Kids don’t let much.

 

_Eleven_  
Graphite stained hands and laughter in a library and a clock that stopped ticking some time ago.

 

Starting high school wasn’t nearly as scary as Courfeyrac had thought it would be. He still did his homework at four o’clock each night, his maman still packed him sandwiches in a brown paper bag, he still spent Friday evening’s at Combeferre’s house. They shared fewer classes, but they saw each other at lunches and breaks.  
They made other friends, but they remained close as ever. Courfeyrac helped Combeferre with English class, and Combeferre helped Courfeyrac with science. Enjolras helped both of them with history.

Enjolras didn’t have his Mark yet, and said he didn’t mind, but Courfeyrac caught him watching his moth (not a butterfly, Combeferre had told him one lunch after science) when they were supposed to be doing silent work.

Enjolras joined them in Toulon that summer. They learned to open their eyes underwater, to swerve around puddles, as Enjolras’ mother griddled peaches for lunch. 

Pictures from that summer end up on Courfeyrac’s corkboard.

 

_Sixteen_  
The art room supply cupboard, application forms and a clock that stopped ticking too long ago.

 

Enjolras’ Mark turned out to be a crow, perching on his index finger and swooping around his hand when he became stressed. It appeared in psychology on a Wednesday as a new student was introduced to the class. Combeferre shot Enjolras a look as Enjolras and the new boy both twitched in shock, but Enjolras’s eyes were locked in those of the wild-haired boy stood up front. 

Grantaire fell in with their group like a missing puzzle piece. He lay with his head in Enjolras’ lap on the few movie nights they managed to squeeze around studying. 

It made Courfeyrac ever so contemplative. He found himself toying with the moth, now larger, taking up more space on his leg than it had before, flitting about somewhat less often than it had when he and Combeferre chased up and down the woods together, when they were carefree and giddy with it, knee-deep in mud and elbow-deep in joy.

It crossed his mind, more often than once, that his soulmate may very well have passed him by. The other children in their class had since dispersed, one left for Toulouse when she was five, others headed to different high schools, one contracted an awful chronic thing that had them hospital-ridden and rarely seen again. The others, Courfeyrac had never grown close to, and often regretted it.  
And then there was the incident. The time he’d found himself pressed chest-to-chest with Combeferre in the art supply closet. He’d had green paint just above his brow, and Courfeyrac had the strangest urge to run his thumb over it. He had the even stranger urge to close the gap between them and kiss him senseless. For the briefest moment, he’d thought perhaps Combeferre had a similar urge, as it looked as though he was leaning forwards just slightly.

But that was quite ridiculous. 

In such a small space, he supposed any shift of foot could be construed as a larger gesture. And kissing his best friend was an awful strange thought. 

Weird.

They could never.

That would be weird.

 

_Twenty one_  
Small lectures and smaller dorm rooms, a goodbye that ached like a wound

 

Combeferre was going to spend a year studying in London.  
And it was wonderful. A fantastic opportunity. Courfeyrac couldn’t be happier for him. 

Combeferre had also begun to grow out his five o’clock shadow, and Courfeyrac found himself noticing far more often than he’d thought he would. He found himself staring at inopportune moments- during class, during their activist meetings, over dinner, in his goodbye party. 

He found himself remembering it long after he was gone. The stretch of the tendons in his neck, his long fingers, his legs that seemed to go on for days. 

Somewhere along the way, his friend had gotten rather beautiful. Friends. They all had. Enjolras had fantastic hair and lips to die for, Grantaire had a build like no other, but Courfeyrac had never once thought about touching either of them. Nor Feuilly, nor Bossuet, nor any of their other friends. 

But it couldn’t mean anything. He and Combeferre had known one another since they were children- they’d been each other’s very first best friend. It couldn’t possibly mean a thing. 

But then suddenly Bossuet had a wonderful med student and his girlfriend, Feuilly had a man who sat by him on the tube with whom he fell very quickly in love, Jehan had a smouldering fashion student, Enjolras and Grantaire came as pair and even Marius found two wonderful girls and everyone around him seemed to be in love, seemed to have love, seemed to know what love was. Courfeyrac couldn’t help but feel lost, somehow. 

On top of everything, he seemed to be getting sick. He had godawful chest pains, his head seemed to be perpetually swimming and throbbing. Enjolras grew increasingly concerned, pushing him to see a doctor. He shook him off each time. Enjolras had a habit of worrying too much when it came to his friends.  
The only times he was able to be distracted were the frequent skype calls with Combeferre. The picture was pixelated and the audio was crackly, but it made him feel closer to his friend, and it made the ache subside a little. 

 

_Twenty six_  
Airport coffees, puzzle pieces fitting together, a clock that is finally silent.

 

Enjolras kept insisting that perhaps this was Something, that perhaps that Something was to do with being separated from one’s soulmate, from Combeferre.

Courfeyrac was swift to change the subject when it came up. 

(He still bought flowers for Combeferre’s return)

(Sunflowers)

(His favourite)

Combeferre had spent a lot more time abroad than he had intended. First it was London for his studies, but then he’d wanted to see more of England, it had extended for another six months for him to travel up to York. Then he’d met a Swedish bartender, and wanted so desperately to see Sweden, then Germany, and before any of them knew it, it had been four more years and Combeferre had travelled all of Europe and half of Africa. Courfeyrac had begun to wonder if was coming home at all.

But he woke up that morning feeling considerably brighter. His head wasn’t pounding half as much as normal and the pain in his chest had subsided substantially. He skipped down the street, complimented his barista profusely and hummed in the car on the way to the airport.

Combeferre had a backpack slung over one shoulder, searching the crowd. Courfeyrac lifted up to his tiptoes and waved, attracting his attention and the smile that broke across his face made his heart skip a beat. 

They came together so naturally, fitting into one another’s arms, not needing to say a word as their foreheads came to rest together, and when their lips brushed, everything just

fell

into

place.

**Author's Note:**

> merry christmas gwen!!  
> sorry if it wasnt what you had in mind this kind of got away from me?? <333


End file.
